


all’s well that ends well (to end up with you)

by restlessvirtue



Category: Women's Soccer RPF
Genre: F/F, PWP, but it's a preath world out here, pinoe and ash and ali and cheney all pop up
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-15
Updated: 2019-09-15
Packaged: 2020-10-19 12:10:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,829
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20657024
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/restlessvirtue/pseuds/restlessvirtue
Summary: When their only obstacle is miscommunication, it’s really just a matter of time.It lives inside looks. There have been little looks for months now: all coy glances and shy smiles buried in the neckline of a hoodie.





	all’s well that ends well (to end up with you)

**Author's Note:**

> I adore these two players – on the field and off – and after a summer of glorious content, here we are. Apparently sporty ships are my weakness now? Life comes at you fast. 
> 
> I haven't written for these two before and I'm no expert on the timeline, but I was just in my feelings and ended up writing this 2015-era ~thing. (I was feeling a little rusty in general so you may have to bear with.) The whole fic just kind of happened to me after an intense summer of watching the cutest shit I’ve ever seen in my life between these two, but I’m intending for any future fics I write to maybe have a plot. We can dream, anyway.
> 
> Thanks to [iwantthemtostay](https://archiveofourown.org/users/iwantthemtostay) for reading this over for me, and being my lovely cheerleader for this one.

It lives inside looks. There have been little looks for months now: all coy glances and shy smiles, usually buried in the neckline of a hoodie. (Sometimes caught in the background of a video that Tobin will never watch.)

She can’t question a fleeting smile; it comes and it goes, so fast that she half-wonders if she’s imagining it. But what about a hundred, and what about a hundred more? When does a spark become a flame? 

All Tobin knows is that there’s a burning inside her now, a burning that just keeps on burning. Brighter and clearer with every glance, every smile, every day — it had been there even while she’d still belonged to someone else, so all-consuming, it could easily make her forget as much. She feels it flashing beneath her skin whenever Christen says her name, laughs at her jokes, smiles that smile. She feels it deep in her gut, the way she’s never felt anything else but football and family. 

It’s about _ getting _ one another. It’s about the innate understanding between them that lives inside silences as much as in conversation. It just feels so right. It’s never felt so right. 

When they’re together, wearing the same creases in the corners of their eyes from smiling so long, and the exact distance and closeness between them is almost physically tangible, she can’t escape the thought: _ you feel it too_. Because Christen has to. It’s too strong, this thing between them, the force of it stopping Tobin’s breath in her throat sometimes. And whatever ease and comfort they’d once felt in each other’s company had evolved into a giddy awkwardness, from Christen as much as herself, Tobin feels sure. It’s the kind of tension that stems from not quite speaking aloud the thing that most wants to come bursting from her chest. 

_ But what if she doesn’t feel it? What then? _

Even in the moments that she’s sure, so sure, so absolutely certain that Christen feels the same way, there’s a creeping doubt that reminds her that maybe it’s all in her head.

One anchoring truth that Tobin holds onto is that, in whatever way it may be, Christen wants to be around her. That’s been true for a long time, barely noticed by Tobin herself (until a pointed comment from Cheney brought it to her attention) because it is so welcome and so right that it never feels all that remarkable. Christen always seeks her out within the group, confidently claiming a spot by her side that everyone seems to instinctively leave empty in anticipation. She’d been right there when they’d all lifted the trophy, she’d sat with her at almost every post-victory celebration, she’d worn her jacket as they’d walked back together in the cold night air after one particular party, and – most boldly of all – she’d once got on the wrong side of Alex for inadvertently disrupting pregame superstitions just to sit beside Tobin on the bus. 

Christen wants to be around Tobin all the time until, one day, she doesn’t anymore. 

With the final match of the victory tour only a couple of days away, they’re at dinner with the team the night before it changes between them. Perhaps the change starts there, sometime between the main course and dessert. 

Tobin finishes first and stretches herself out in her seat as everyone around her continues eating and talking, her arm casually draped over the back of Christen’s chair without a thought. Wrapped up in an oversized sweatshirt that had once been Tobin’s, Christen is quietly savoring every bite – each one a perfectly curated forkful with a little of everything on it; it’s as far from Tobin’s hasty approach as it is possible to be, but _ it’s Christen_. The familiarity of it earns a fond smile, Christen’s serene quiet more noticeable amid the chaos than if she’d been chatting along with their friends. 

Pinoe’s sat on the other side of her, with Ash, Ali and Alyssa rounding out the table, and she’s leading a conversation about her current love life dramas when Ash smugly teases, “I wouldn’t know anything about that,” while curling her arm around Ali’s shoulders.

Putting on a theatrical voice filled with mock outrage, Pinoe replies, “You two make me sick!” 

Ali tries not to choke on her food as she laughs, while Ash says, “You can’t just be happy for your friends, huh? Jealousy is an ugly emotion, P.” She moves her arm to the back of Ali’s chair, the gesture an unconscious but near-perfect reflection of the position Tobin finds herself in on the opposite side of the table. 

“I think I wear it rather well, thank you very much,” Pinoe counters, preening happily as she strokes a hand through her perfectly coiffed hair. “Especially when you two are far too caught up in each other to give me the attention I need and deserve.”

“Please. She’s so much more into you than me,” Ali chimes in, unfazed by the familiar repartee. 

“Come on. You know I love you both.” Ash puts on the faux-calm voice of mediation, before adding, “And we’re not half as bad as Tobin and Pressy these days!” 

Christen chokes a little, prompting Tobin to give her a firm pat on the back to steady herself. Once she’s recovered and taken a sip of water, the gesture transforms into a momentary, absent-minded back rub before Tobin’s hand moves to the line of the chair.

“What are you talking about?” she protests, not entirely following the line of argument and sensing that Christen isn’t either. She catches a quick glance from Pinoe to Christen before Cheney sneaks up behind her, her arms slipping affectionately around Tobin’s neck and capturing all of her attention – as well as everyone else’s, a smattering of cheers now customary anytime the outgoing number 12 appears. 

The memory of Ash’s throwaway comment and the tense look on Christen’s face is quickly eclipsed by a rush of emotion for Cheney. The whole interaction barely makes an impression on Tobin. Barely, just barely. But then things feel different in the morning, and the memory of that odd little moment resurfaces as the only possible explanation. 

Tobin doesn’t notice at first. They’re busy at practice and, when the ball’s at her feet, her attention span for anything else is minimal. She doesn’t notice Christen latching onto Kelley right away, or when she opts to sit with Moe, Pinoe, Ali, Ash, Carli – anyone, seemingly, but her. She doesn’t notice for exactly as long as it takes her to think of something she just has to tell Christen – some passing comment she’d mumble quietly to the person sitting next to her, the person that usually _ is _ Christen – which is to say, it doesn’t take very long at all.

She isn’t there, by her side, in that spot that’s become hers; that’s the first sign that something’s off. When she does appear at last, passing by with some of their teammates, Tobin calls out to her but Christen doesn’t stop. She just keeps shuffling away, pretending she didn’t hear. 

It’s a little weird, but Tobin’s distracted in seconds by a ball flying her way. 

Later, there’s a pass. It’s the perfect opening for an easy assist. It would be a breezy tap-in on the left post. Christen to Tobin, just outside the six. It’s there. It’s open. There’s a gap between Becky and Kelley in the scrimmage, and Tobin knows she sees it; she feels the connection spark and moves to position, anticipating the ball. 

The ball never comes. 

Christen taps it back to JJ, who looks just as surprised about it as Tobin feels, and turns her whole body the other way. Pinoe runs by, pats her back, and instantly Tobin realizes it’s as clear as day to everyone else that something is off between them. When the team go for a break, Pinoe comes over and asks, casually but genuinely, “Everything okay, kid?” 

Tobin can’t quite meet her eyes, only giving a shrug.

“Maybe talk to her, Tobes,” she whispers quietly, gently, the words heavy with unexpected concern. It’s well-intended, like the sympathetic look in her eye, but it affirms Tobin’s conviction that she’s not being paranoid; something _ is _ off, something is wrong. 

Tobin leans closer, covering her mouth to reply in Pinoe’s ear: “I feel like maybe… she’s picking up on something from me, and it’s made her feel awkward.” 

“Do not – and I cannot stress this enough – jump to conclusions. Talk. To. Her.” 

But she can’t talk about it here. She waits until they’re back at the hotel, waits until after a bus trip spent alone with her headphones, waits until she can’t wait anymore. 

*

“Hey,” Tobin says when the hotel room door swings open, after no less than eight insistent knocks, and Christen’s stood in front of her like a deer in headlights. “Can I come in?” 

“Wait. Uhh…” 

Before Christen can argue, Tobin’s maneuvered around her and propped herself against the wall of the room’s entryway. The strange tension between them is amplified by their proximity suddenly, the feeling between them so viscerally different, it leaves Tobin reaching for the right thing to do or the right words to say when usually it comes so easily. Nervously, she pulls her hair from one side to the other, desperate for something to occupy her hands. When she looks back up, Christen’s looking back at her with a tightness in her expression; it’s a similar look to the one she’d worn the night before. Now she’s got her arms crossed, pointedly refusing to close the hotel room door behind Tobin, and there’s a deep crinkle above her nose separating the eyebrows she’s drawn together.

“You’re avoiding me,” Tobin blurts out, sounding a little less casual than she’d intended. 

“No, I’m not. I’m just in the middle of–”

Decisively reaching to close the door just short of a slam, Tobin cuts her off: “Chris. I get that you don’t wanna hang out 24/7 with me, but, you know, I haven’t, uh… I don’t know what I did to make you avoid me all day.” 

Christen swallows before meekly uttering, “I _ do_.”

“Yeah? Then talk to me.” Tobin stares pleadingly, unable to shake the sadness in her voice as she sinks back against the wall behind her. “I can’t… deal with you not talking to me. I just… need you. Especially now. With Cheney retiring, I really need–”

“No,” Christen cuts her off, so quietly that Tobin isn’t certain of it. “_I do_. I do want to hang out with you 24/7. _ That’s _ the problem.” 

The words feel cloudy in her head, but all she can see is the stricken look on Christen’s face and the tears settling on her eyelashes. Instinct overtakes rational thought, and she’s moving her arms around her best friend before either one of them has time to question it. For Christen’s part, she falls into it easily, burying her face in Tobin’s shoulder the way she always does – after a frustrating match, or an unfair benching, or an injury setback. She feels more tense in Tobin’s arms than she ever has before, though, even as she strokes a comforting hand across Christen’s back. 

“I just need some space,” Christen states flatly after a long silence, the words cool and quiet to Tobin’s ears. She draws away, the loss of contact almost painful, as she says, “It’s not… You haven’t done anything wrong, Tobin. I’m sorry.”

“I don’t understand what’s happening. Did I–” Her voice drops out before she can correct herself: “Did I do something to make you uncomfortable?”

Christen laughs – a dry, sad sob of a laugh. “Tobin. Isn’t it obvious?”

All Tobin has to offer is a blank expression. 

“You’re with someone and I like you, and I think I just need to–” 

“I’m not!” Tobin argues before Christen can even finish, the words bursting out with an urgency that takes even Tobin herself by surprise. “I’m not. I ended that. Weeks ago.” 

“You didn’t say anything,” Christen reminds her, an uneasiness in her words, a question buried in them. 

“I… It never came up, really.” 

Christen looks hurt at that. 

“No, I, uh… wanted to but…” Tobin struggles for the words, reaching for the right explanation, the one that’ll make it okay. “I thought it would come across like…” 

“Like what?” 

That’s when Tobin takes her chance. Shoots her shot. It’s a curl into the net from the endline that she’s not sure she can make, a backheel catch of a high ball going wide, an impossible nutmeg of a pass when her tired feet can do no more. She leans forward in the dim hallway of Christen’s hotel room, closing the gap slowly enough that she catches the question in Christen’s eyes as they glance down at Tobin’s lips; _ yes_, they say in silence, pressing gently at first, as her hand finds the shoulder of Christen’s t-shirt and guides slowly down the length of her arm. 

She relishes the way Christen sinks into it, the shock seeming to fall away quickly as their kiss deepens. The acceptance on Christen’s lips is accompanied by her hand on Tobin’s waist, pulling her closer so that they’re flush against one another. Tobin reaches for her free hand, pressing outstretched fingers flat against each other as though sizing their hands up for comparison; when Christen intertwines them, it feels like acceptance. 

As they come apart to recover themselves, Christen utters a soft, sweet, “Thank you,” that Tobin decides she’ll treasure forever, her lips still so close that she can feel ragged breaths teasing against her skin.

“What are you thanking me for?” she replies, voice deeper than usual, her lips quirking up to one side in a smile. Maybe it’ll disguise the hot blush she can feel in her cheeks. 

“I don’t know if I would ever have found the courage to do that,” Christen admits. “I wanted to kiss you so bad.” She laughs a little after saying it, like it had slipped away from her grasp before she had a chance to stop it, like she’s hoping the laughter might cover up the confession. 

“Yeah?” Tobin can’t help the way her smile broadens, her confidence growing enough to allow her to gently tuck a lock of hair behind Christen’s ear before brushing her hand along the line of her jaw. As Tobin’s touch falls away, she hears Christen swallow amidst the loaded silence, the air suddenly close and heady. Not wanting to disrupt it, Tobin’s words are a delicate whisper: “Since when?”

Christen looks down, her chin tucking in tight to her chest. 

“Chris?”

She waits. She hears Christen take a deep breath before lifting her head, meeting Tobin’s gaze — eyes glistening now — and offering a sadder smile. “If I told you, you wouldn’t believe me.”

“But I—I didn’t know.”

Christen laughs quietly, a weight to it that breaks Tobin’s heart just a little. “I think you might be the only one who didn’t, Tobes.” 

Tobin draws back just a little to take it in. It’s been there all along — maybe since before the first spark of a thought had crossed her mind. This perfect, magical possibility had always been there for the taking. She drops her head down, but then leans across to rest her forehead against Christen’s shoulder in something like an apology, with melodious giggles filling her ears the moment Christen realizes what she’s doing. 

Still laughing — more loose and easy than she had been — Christen says, “I like you. I thought it was... obvious. I thought I practically wore a sign on my head that said, ‘I Heart Number 17’.”

“Number 17’s an idiot.”

“Hey. Watch what you say about her.” Christen’s hand comes up to Tobin’s cheek as she pulls back to look her in the eye. “She’s my favorite.”

Tobin bites down on her bottom lip in an attempt to hide her smile but, in the end, her best hope is to bury it in another kiss. She leans forward again, their foreheads meeting, and she presses her smile to Christen’s own, their mouths opening to deepen it like it’s instinct, like it’s familiar, like it’s not just the second time. When they pull away for a breath, Tobin mumbles, “I was a fucking idiot.”

“No,” Christen’s whispering, and her hands come up to hold Tobin’s face so reverently that she almost accepts the argument. “Just the possibility of you makes me happy. Just being around you.”

“But you could be with anyone.” 

Christen blushes, shaking her head quickly, refusing to let the compliment settle. “That’s not true. And besides, it wouldn’t matter. I only want you.” 

“I’m sorry I took so long,” Tobin mumbles quietly, already closing the gap between their lips before she punctuates the words with a short, gentle peck of a kiss. 

“I needed time too, you know,” Christen offers, shrugging before she brings her hands up to Tobin’s shoulders, guiding them from the curve of her neck, down her arms and then settling at her waist. There’s a quiet as Tobin savors the feeling of Christen’s hands moving over her body, letting the words sink in – and then Christen cuts off her thoughts, adding dryly, “Probably not _ this _ much time but…”

Tobin winces, feeling guilty even though she knows it’s just gentle teasing. She can feel Christen’s hands squeezing at her waist in reassurance, and when she opens her eyes again, there’s a smile waiting for her that makes her feel dizzy. 

Quietly, as they stand smiling at each other, hands on each other’s waists like they don’t ever want to let go, Christen admits, “I know it’s almost curfew, and I know it’s too much too soon but I don’t want you to go now.”

Tobin steps a little closer before leaning into Christen’s embrace a little more, burying her words against Christen’s neck: “What if I stayed?”

“You—"

“I don’t have to!” she corrects, pulling back to put a little space between them again. “I don’t want to, umm, make it weird when tonight’s been... sick.” 

“No. Stay. I want you to.” 

“Yeah?” Tobin says, blushing but without a hint of embarrassment. 

“Yeah.” Christen smiles brightly back at her, so close that it almost makes Tobin cross-eyed. “Pinoe won’t be back till later, and she… uh… she knows.”

“She knows?” Tobin can’t hide her surprise. 

“Well, I mean, she doesn’t know what just happened but I talked to her about, like, how I felt. I had to talk to someone, Tobes. You didn’t talk to anyone? Not even Lauren?” 

“I was trying to act chill,” Tobin argues back. “I don’t really like to talk about that stuff.”

“S’okay,” Christen promises, delicately tucking Tobin’s hair behind her ear. “I’m sorry I talked about us to… someone else. It felt personal, but I was… so overwhelmed and I’m… I’m a talker. And the one person I wanted to tell most, I couldn’t.” 

“I’m glad you talked to Pinoe. I think she tried to help a little… earlier, when I was confused about what was up.” 

“So, she won’t be bothered if she finds you in here with me,” Christen explains, a coy smile pulling at her lips as she leads Tobin toward her the main part of her hotel room, not really looking where she’s going. “And she’ll never tell Jill we broke the rules.”

“Never had you down as a rule-breaker,” Tobin teases.

“I can be a rule-breaker. I break rules sometimes. I’ll have you know, I skipped a few classes during college. I have ignored _ multiple _ ‘keep off the grass’ signs in my time. I once drank some of my dad’s boxed wine and topped it back up with water.”

“Oh yeah? Who knew you were such a rebel, babe.” It comes out naturally, that word, a simple term of endearment that Tobin’s never been permitted to use for Christen before. The moment she says it, it sounds right to her ears. And there’s the way Christen straightens up, glowing a little. It feels possessive and affectionate all at once; it feels private and theirs, for no one else to know about yet. 

Stumbling backward with Tobin in her arms as they move toward the bed, Christen carries on: “Last night at dinner, I stole an extra potato for you when no one was looking because I know they’re your favorite. The night in LA when we snuck out to kick the ball around, I told you that I knew a guy who owned that pitch? I didn’t know a guy. I just wanted to hang out with you.”

“We could’ve got busted for that!” Tobin argues back, smiling too much to really sell it. 

“And, Tobin, I always knew it was Alex’s seat on the bus.” 

Maybe there’s a lot more to say, more to talk about, but Tobin can’t think past that simple truth. Tobin always knew. She knew it so deep in her gut, and yet there’s something more to hearing it confirmed.

“I think there must be a rule about not kissing teammates, too,” Christen continues, placing a tender kiss on Tobin’s lips. “What about falling for one of them? Is there a rule about that?” 

Tobin can’t hide the awed expression on her face. Her gaze dances over Christen’s features, starting with gold-green eyes that transform in the light, taking in every detail of her expression, before coming back to those eyes. They’re wide and open, finally hiding nothing at all. When Christen glances down at Tobin’s lips, there’s no shame in it anymore. There are no more little looks; it’s long, reverent stares that go uninhibited.

“Stay,” Christen whispers, one last time. As if she even has to ask.

*

As they fall asleep in each other’s arms, Christen leans over and kisses the shell of Tobin’s ear. Soft and delicate, like every gesture that Christen had ever shown her. That’s when Tobin realizes that that indefinable feeling — the one lodged deep down inside her, embedded somehow, that has only ever belonged to football and family before – is love. She is in love. And she isn’t in it alone. 

She’s learned the lines of Christen’s body on platonic terms, never noticing herself memorising every detail. But Tobin _ knows _ her. She knows the side of her neck that’s exposed when all her hair is thrown loosely to one side, natural curls flowing freely, asymmetrically. She knows the sunny smile Christen wears when she’s truly content, walking barefoot under sunsets, as well as she knows the smile that hides sadness or anxiety, the one locked with tension. She knows the outline of her hands, the rings of each finger shining in the light, marking out each delicate digit as unique, always drawing Tobin’s eye. 

A tear slips through her eyelashes unnoticed, trickling gently down her cheek as she falls slowly to sleep — and then, all at once, she’s fallen. 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! I hope you enjoyed it.


End file.
